


Fate/Zero Cooking Skill

by Tren



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tren/pseuds/Tren
Summary: Kiritsugu Emiya, a chef known mostly for his lack of cooking abilities finds himself pitted against one of the more talented chefs, Kirei Kotomine, in a low stakes cooking competition. But atmosphere quickly gets heated as both chefs attempt to win by any means.
Relationships: Emiya Kiritsugu & Kotomine Kirei
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Happy Belated Treatmas 2019, Hate Exchange 2019





	Fate/Zero Cooking Skill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reishiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Reishiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/pseuds/Reishiin) in the [happy_belated_treatmas_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/happy_belated_treatmas_2019) collection. 



> I really liked the idea of a cooking competition between those two Carnival Phantasm style. So I did just that.
> 
> There's background Saber/Iri in the story. I did my best to add some tension for Kiritsugu and Kirei, but I don't think the end result was shippy enough for a slash tag.
> 
> Thanks to Karios for the beta.

This had to be some kind of sick joke.

No, _it definitely was_ a sick joke at Kiritsugu's expense.

It apparently wasn't enough that every week he provided an entertainment to thousands of viewers by proving that he still couldn't cook. No, some sort of sadist apparently watched his cooking show and decided that this wasn't nearly enough humiliation.

Which was why next week he would star in a crossover event with one of the most competent cooks their TV station had access to.

*

"It probably won't be that bad," Irisviel, his ray of hope in the darkness, suggested, as they sat in the dressing room after an interview they'd held together. Saber, who had been with them, had left early due to some business.

"Isn't his co-host the sleaziest celebrity to ever grace this channel? Arturia makes almost as many angry posts about him on her Twitter as she does about me," Kiritsugu pointed out.

Irisviel froze as she finally seemed to connect the dots.

"Wait, it's a co-host of that asshole Gilgamesh who had been stalking her?!" she said, raising her voice in indignation. "He's definitely no good. Make sure to watch out—” 

A sudden knock on the door interrupted them. They both turned their heads to see none other than the person they've been talking about enter the room.

"Kotomine Kirei," Kiritsugu spat, immediately disliking the man. There was something in his stance, in his empty eyes, and the slight curl of his lips that just set Kiritsugu on edge. Also, Kiritsugu was very sure he and Iri had told no one where they were going, which meant that Kotomine purposefully sought them out.

"I apologize for interrupting," Kotomine said with perfectly level tone, but Kiritsugu would bet his gun collection that the man meant not a single syllable of his apology. "I heard we would be hosting a show together so I wanted to meet the infamous _Burnt Toast_ Emiya."

Kotomine's smile seemed to grow as Kiritsugu inevitably winced. He hated that nickname, coined after the first episode of his show where he managed to mess up making an egg toast.

He now hated egg toasts. Except the ones made by his son. They were great and he didn't have the heart to tell him not to make them anymore.

"I also heard many things about you… Mapo Tofu God," Kiritsugu said with derision, but Kotomine just smirked wider in response. Even if it sounded a bit goofy, it was still a better nickname than Kiritsugu's.

And from what he heard about the poor souls who had tasted Kotomine's mapo tofu, a very frightening one.

"If you wish, I can prepare a modest serving of my signature dish for you. As a man of god, it's my duty to feed all those who are starving."

Once more, his tone sounded completely sincere, but Kiritsugu was sure that the fake priest before him didn't mean a word of what he had said.

"Your food is nothing compared to Kiritsugu's!" Iri chimed in, visibly annoyed. She stared at Kotomine with hostility, but the man didn't even seem to register it.

It made Kiritsugu even angrier. It was one thing to have someone belittle him, but he would not stand to see Iri humiliated by the likes of Kotomine.

"That's right! My home cooking won't lose against your fancy shmancy tofu!"

Kotomine merely shrugged.

"We will see about that," he replied evenly. His composure really ticked off Kiritsugu. People weren't supposed to be so goddamn calm. "Though I must say those are bold words for someone who couldn't even protect his marriage."

Kiritsugu felt his teeth clench. He was also half-aware of an indignant gasp Iri made.

How dare that bastard—?!

"We will obliterate you," Irisviel announced. "We will show you no mercy!"

"Good, it would be rather unsatisfying if I won without my opponent even trying," Kotomine explained with his insufferable smirk once more plastered on his face.

He bowed, perfectly polite and bid them farewell. It was only then that Kiritsugu realized that Kotomine achieved his goal.

The only reason why he came was to taunt Kiritsugu so that he wouldn't give up prematurely.

Kotomine wanted to truly and completely crush him.

What was worse, even realizing that, there was no way Kiritsugu would simply give up now. Even if he was playing into Kotomine's hand, he would meet him head on and turn the tables on him. 

He turned towards Iri to confirm his resolve, but then he saw her eyes burning.

"I will send Leysritt and Sella to tutor you for the next few days. I will make sure you _crush him_."

*

"Weeelllcooooooomee to _Cooking Showdown_! I, the heretical cook Gilles de Rais will be your host for this special episode!" The man, in a gray cooking apron and a big chef hat that constantly fell on his bulging eyes, greeted the crowd by shouting and raising his hands in the air.

"Together with me! Uryuu Ryuunosuke! We will give you the coooolest commentary!" A young man, in a white apron with suspicious red stains on it, waved happily to the crowd.

"Let us not put off the slaughter," Gilles said cheerfully. "Please give a loud applause to Kiritsugu Emiya! The star of _Dinner at Einzberns_!"

Kiritsugu walked onto the scene making sure to look completely unaffected.

Of course. Of course the station had to choose the hosts he hated the most for this competition.

"Wait, he's the guy who can't cook?!" Uryuu said in sudden recognition.

"That's right! Born from the unusual premise of someone who struggles to make even a simple dish—this cooking show is about tossing this unfortunate soul between the heaven of his forgiving wife and the hell of her unimpressed attendant."

"Isn't she his ex-wife though?" Uryuu pointed out, because _of course_ this show couldn't happen without someone mentioning Kiritsugu's disaster of a personal life.

"Now, now, Ryuunosuke. The holy bonds are not so easily broken. They are still married in the eyes of God," Gilles said sternly, but then added in a more level voice. "Just not in the eyes of anyone other than Him."

"Oh, sure," Uryuu agreed easily, before moving to announcing the next guest. "His opponent tonight is no less famous, serving as a cook on _Feast Worthy of the King_ and surviving all the trials put before him! The man called the God of Mapo Tofu... Please welcome, Kirei Kotomine!"

Kotomine slowly walked on the scene smiling at the crowd. 

"This cooking show had almost failed when it's main star, Gilgamesh, dismissed every cook after one episode," Gilles explained to the viewers. "It was thought to be impossible to find someone who could accommodate the sublime taste and domineering character of the popular celebrity. And yet this man met the challenge and made this cooking show a huge success!"

"I ate his mapo tofu once," Uryuu said dreamily. "It was as if the depths of hell opened in my mouth, and I could do nothing, but swallow the essence of humanity's evil. It was the coolest!"

Kiritsugu had no idea how that statement could be interpreted as praise, but he probably shouldn't have expected the hosts of _Heretics in Kitchen_ to make even a semblance of sense.

"His sublime understanding of thin line between pleasure and suffering is truly worthy of respect," Gilles agreed. Kiritsugu wondered if they really were talking about cooking or if he was missing some bigger context here.

Luckily, the two crazed cooks seemed to remember they had a show to host.

"This competition will consist of three challenges. All of them will be judged by this special panel," Gilles said, gesturing towards the table with three behind it. "First the beautiful angel of French cooking—"

A fork flew and stabbed Gilles into the forehead.

"For the last time stop mistaking me for a bloody Frenchwoman!" Arturia shouted. She was wearing a suit and had put a foot up on the table after she had taken aim at the host. "I'm Arturia Pendragon, the chief of _Round Table_ security company. I don't cook and I'm a Brit!"

"And I'm her employer, Irisviel Einzbern. It's a pleasure to meet everyone!" Iri, who sat next to her, smiled trying to salvage the situation.

"He should finally invest in glasses if he still mistakes that holy cooking woman for you, Saber."

Kiritsugu winced realizing who sat on the other side of Irisviel. No wonder Arturia was already cranky.

"I told you not to use my codename just because you employed me once," she hissed at Gilgamesh who was staring at her.

"But it really suits you," he said, completely dismissing Arturia's opinion. "You are like a naked blade looking for someone to guide you pro—"

Irisviel made a loud cough which was very obviously fake, cutting his words off. 

Kiritsugu was ignoring all the commotion, instead scanning the audience. It was a habit at this point, and as always Kiritsugu had no trouble identifying a few of Arturia’s employees in very obvious disguises. She had forbidden them from coming, but they never listened and somehow their tacky outfits _were_ fooling her.

Though someone really should tell Lancelot that the fake mustache wasn’t working for him.

It seemed that the hosts had been instructed to intercept further comments from Gilgamesh, because Uryuu chimed in before he could continue.

"And our last guest, the famous celebrity. An icon of high class clothing and lifestyle, please welcome the one and only Gilgamesh!"

The loud cheers from the audience erupted, placating Gilgamesh who looked like he was about to start a quarrel. He beamed at the audience, accepting their applause as if it was a tribute.

What an asshole, Kiritsugu thought.

“Wait a moment, if two judges are from chef Emiya’s show won’t there be a bias?” Uryuu asked.

“Don’t worry,” Arturia said, hear arms crossed. “I sincerely hate both of today’s contestants. Therefore I will judge them purely on the merit of their cooking.”

Kiritsugu was glad for all of two seconds before it occurred to him how screwed he was if that was her only criteria.

“How cold of you. Then again, I look forward to sharing some food with you today, Saber,” Gilgamesh said, smirking at her.

Arturia replied with a choice of words that Kiritsugu was very sure would not be included in the actual broadcast.

“Let’s not make our judges wait. Time to start the first round!” Gilles announced.

A loud gong resounded and a huge screen displayed the information about the first round.

“ _Choose your dish_?” Kiritsugu repeated in confusion.

“Exactly! To add some flavour to this episode we will make our contestants choose the first two dishes they will make today!”

“Of course to make things more fair, we asked chef Kotomine not to choose any complex dishes,” Uryuu added.

“It wouldn’t do for a man of god like me to needlessly torment today’s opponent. I hope to level the playing field as much as possible so we can have a fair and entertaining match,” Kotomine assured the audience.

There was applause from the crowd moved by Kotomine’s words, which drowned out Gilgamesh’s snicker.

“Such compassion! So what will the one and only cooking priest choose as the first dish?” Uryuu asked, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.

Kotomine smiled in a way that instantly gave Kiritsugu the creeps.

“Fried rice,” he announced after a weighty silence.

“Maaaaaan, and here I hoped we would get some of that heinous mapo tofu,” Uryuu whined. The audience also seemed to be disappointed.

Kiritsugu had yet to understand why that asshole’s mapo tofu amassed such a cult following. As far as he knew it was just as hellish as the personality of the cook himself.

“While I would love to taste more of that abject bloodred monstrosity, we must honor our guests’ wishes,” Gilles said gently, before raising his voice. “The first round’s dish shall be fried rice! The contestants will have an hour to prepare it! Ready, set, go!”

Kiritsugu tried not to panic, as he inspected various ingredients available to him. He had made fried rice only a couple of times before Shirou gently but firmly proclaimed he would be the one cooking. Apparently, Kiritsugu’s kid was way better than his dad at cooking despite being ten years old.

Maybe it was because he was adopted and didn’t inherit all of Kiritsugu’s anti-talent for cooking. 

Kiritsugu briefly looked at the judge’s stand where his ex-wife was sitting and wondered if he had accidentally cursed Illya with inability to make even a simple dish, before he remembered that she would never have to cook as an heir to the Einzbern family.

He glanced at his enemy and immediately regretted it. Kotomine had already gathered all the necessary ingredients and was busy preparing the rice. Kiritsugu very quietly cursed under his breath, making sure to block off the microphone from catching it, and moved to his own preparations. He had tried to make fried rice several times in the past, but he never quite succeeded. Not without burning at least half of it.

He grasped a number of ingredients, putting them on the table, and started to clean the rice. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the judges stand. Gilgamesh was busy taking a selfie and trying to catch Arturia in frame. She seemed busy doing her best to avoid that fate.

Irisviel noticed his gaze and waved to him encouragingly.

Seeing that he put even more effort into his preparations and before long— 

—the smell of burnt food filled the kitchen.

*

“An hour has passed and both of our contestants are ready!” Uryuu announced, as he stretched his hand towards both Kiritsugu and Kotomine. They both had a few plates with servings of fried rice before them. 

Kiritsugu stepped closer to the main stage as a few helpers, who all wore skull-faced masks, carried the dishes to the judges. Not for the first time, Kiritsugu wondered why their TV station employed so many weirdos.

“Emiya’s dish will be judged first,” Uryuu announced. “Now let’s see, what do we have here?”

“Dog food. No, even worse than that. It could kill the dog whose life is worth infinitely more than the person who cooked this abomination,” Gilgamesh decided, looking with disgust at the burnt parts of Kiritsugu’s fried rice.

“How nostalgic! We haven’t heard such scathing comments about food since the first season of _Feast Worthy of the King_ ,” Uryuu pointed out, excitedly. It must have been fun for him, since his feelings weren’t the ones getting hurt.

“Still, there’s undeniably love put into this dish,” Irisviel said, happily. She fearlessly put the burnt food into her mouth.

“What he definitely put into this dish was too much cabbage. But it does drown out the taste of burned chicken, so I guess it works somehow. Still better than what he served us last time he tried to make fried rice,” Arturia said, critically. “I guess even if he is totally hopeless husband, there is still some salvation for him as a cook.”

“Saber,” Irisviel hissed, visibly unhappy. Arturia mumbled an apology, which didn’t sound sincere.

The shady helpers in skull masks brought Kotomine’s rice next. Unlike Kiritsugu’s it was red and glistened ominously in the artificial light.

“Time to sample the food from our second guest. What surprise is hidden behind his dish?” Uryuu asked. 

“You are free to see for yourself. I made a bit too much,” Kotomine said, gesturing to his workspace. There was a plate with an extra portion of fried rice.

“Thank you very much, Father,” Uryuu said, before happily skipping to the table. “Time to dig in.”

As he did, loud noises resounded through the studio—it was the sound of pure suffering.

“This is terrible,” Arturia rasped.

“I’m dying,” Irisviel whispered as she clutched her throat.

Gilgamesh was the only one who maintained his composure, but the large beads of sweat on his face proved he was also suffering.

“How hooooooot!!!!!” Uryuu shouted. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but that didn’t stop him from taking another spoonful of the dish that was causing him so much suffering. 

“I’ve been in many life or death situations, but nothing prepared me for this,” Arturia said.

“I got used to smiling through the awful taste for the sake of my former husband, but this is so much worse than anything he ever cooked,” Irisviel admitted in a bout of honesty. Kiritsugu tried not to wince.

“The opinions on Kotomine’s dish seem quite unfavourable. What do you think, Ryuunosuke?” Gilles asked, visibly fascinated by the entire thing.

“It’s the coooolest fried rice I ever ate!” he shouted. “It’s the perfect balance of ingredients. It tastes nice when you take the first bite, but the second you swallow it hits you—the uncanny mixture of spices that throws your taste buds into the depths of despair!”

Gilles nodded, seriously.

“I guess _The God of Mapo Tofu_ decided to expand beyond his signature dish,” he said, looking at Kotomine. It was only then that Kiritsugu realized that the man was barely hiding a smirk.

Was that sick asshole getting off on torturing people with food?!

“It was just an experiment. I thought that rather than making something boring that would net me an easy victory, I should try something completely new,” Kotomine explained. “I believed it would be a perfect way to make this clash more interesting. Though it seems that this experiment wasn’t very successful,” he added with a fake wistfulness.

“Well then, what will be the judges verdict?” Gilles asked.

As the judges voted, the screen above them showed the votes.

“Two for Emiya, one for Kotomine! I guess other judges votes are no surprise, seeing their negative reactions, but could we ask what made you decide to vote for Kotomine, Gilgamesh?”

“Hmph, it’s easy. Having to choose between the failure to cook a simple dish and an extraordinary dish—isn’t it obvious which of them is more worthy?” he asked, seriously. 

Irisviel and Arturia just looked at him as if he was talking nonsense.

*

“Time for the second round,” Gilles announced after a short break during which the kitchen stations had been cleaned and restocked.

Kiritsugu tried to use the break time to have a short chat with Irisviel, but she left the set escorted by Arturia. Presumably to get a medical treatment after having eaten the poisonous food made by that stupid, duplicious— 

“So, chef Emiya, what dish do you suggest for the second round?” Uryuu asked.

Kiritsugu, of course, had already devised a winning strategy during the break. His first win was nothing more than a stroke of luck, but he would make the second one count.

“I noticed that both of us still have a lot of fried rice left, so rather than letting it go to waste… how about we make omurice?”

It was a long shot, but if he managed to force it— 

“Eh? But Kotomine’s fried rice was badly received by the judges. Wouldn’t it be unfair?” Uryuu said something sensible for once. Kiritsugu had hoped the hosts with their lack of common sense wouldn’t notice that. An angry murmur spread through the audience, making Kiritsugu sweat.

However, Kotomine simply gestured for everyone to calm down.

“Now, now. While I think it is extremely cruel of Emiya to subject his ex-wife to having to taste my failed cooking experiment a second time, I understand that he is simply doing his best to match my skill. Therefore, I will accept his proposition.”

“Such magnanimousness!” Gilles shrieked. “Even though the odds are stacked against him, he takes the challenge! As expected of _God of Mapo Tofu_.”

While he was saying that, Kotomine glanced at Kiritsugu with a mocking smirk on his face. Kiritsugu could feel his feelings boil, but the derisive expression on Kotomine’s face had already disappeared, returning to the neutral one he always wore. No one else seemed to have noticed this silent exchange.

You are on, you asshole.

“Get ready chefs! Time to… start!”

*

“The time has run out and both our chefs are ready,” Uryuu announced as a loud sound resounded through the studio.

Kiritsugu felt proud of himself—he hadn’t burned the omelette while frying. It was the first egg dish he managed to successfully complete.

Of course, inside of it was Kiritsugu’s burnt fried rice, but that wasn’t important. After all, the whole plan relied on the fact that Kotomine’s fried rice was unsalvageable.

Kiritsugu glanced at Iri, apologizing in his mind for forcing her to endure such suffering again, but she wasn’t looking in his direction. She seemed busy whispering something to Arturia, who looked far too happy about it. Not for the first time Kiritsugu wondered if it was just his imagination or was there— 

“Once more we will start with chef Emiya’s dish,” Uryuu explained, while the skull-masked helpers carried the plates. Everyone’s attention was once more on the competition.

“This could have actually been a decent omurice if _someone_ haven't messed up his fried rice,” Arturia complained, stabbing a particularly burned piece of meat with her fork.

“I’m so proud of you,” Irisviel cooed, recognizing how big breakthrough this dish was for Kiritsugu. “You managed to fry the egg without burning it!”

“An average failure of average cook,” Gilgamesh said dismissively.

Still, Kiritsugu stood confidently against their words. It didn’t matter how terrible his dish was as long as Kotomine’s tasted even worse.

Despite that, Kotomine looked unperturbed while the judges squinted at his dish. He said nothing and merely waited for them to take a spoonful.

“It’s… edible!” Irisviel proclaimed in shock. “It’s still very spicy, but the egg lessens the impact. It’s almost as good as Kiritsugu’s.”

However, the person sitting next to her shook his head.

“No, there is one decisive difference between those two dishes.” Gilgamesh said. “You also noticed. Right, Saber?” 

Arturia made a loud sigh.

“As much as I hate it, I must agree with you,” she said, poking the plate with her fork before pointing it out at Kiritsugu. “There is one thing that remedies Kotomine’s dish, but yours lack.”

“What is it?” Kiritsugu asked, having a sinking feeling.

“It’s the sauce,” she said, moving her fork to point at it. Kiritsugu squinted, not understanding.

“What she’s saying is that you choose the easy path by using an already made ketchup,” Gilgamesh supplied. “It never occured to you that the dish could be improved by using a from-scratch sauce instead.”

It was only then that it occurred to Kiritsugu that the sauce on Kotomine’s omurice wasn’t smooth. Rather than ketchup, it was an actual tomato sauce. 

“While omurice of both contestants suffer from their distinctive issues, the from-scratch sauce really saves this dish. It underlines the taste of the omurice much more effectively than a mass-produced ketchup,” Arturia explained, visibly annoyed that Gilgamesh interrupted her earlier.

“It seems that the judges made their decision! Let’s see the results!”

The judges voted and the screen above them immediately displayed the result. This time it was Kiritusugu who lost by one vote.

“And the winner of this round is chef Kotomine! The next battle will determine the winner! Will _God of Mapo Tofu_ be bested by _Burned Toast_ Emiya? Find out after the commercial break!”

*

Kiritsugu breathed deeply as he smoked one cigarette after another.

Even the excessive nicotine abuse, which his ex-wife would definitely frown upon, couldn’t calm him down.

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing against Kotomine. The man was so detestable that Kiritsugu couldn’t even stand his presence. Something about Kotomine just set him on alert.

Someone knocked on the door. It was too early for someone from the staff to call him, so it must have been— 

“Sorry, Iri, I’m trying to concentrate right now, so if you could come back lat—”

The words died on his lips as the door opened to reveal none other than Kirei Kotomine.

“My, she would be sad to hear that, though I hope you will find a moment _for me_ ,” Kotomine’s mocking voice filled the small dressing room. It wasn’t so obvious on the spacious set they were filming on, but Kiritsugu was reminded just how oppressive Kotomine’s presence felt in enclosed spaces like this.

“If you came to gloat, then scram. I’m well aware my cooking skills are inferior to yours,” Kiritsugu hissed, crushing the cigarette he had been smoking.

“You wound me, thinking I came here to state the obvious,” Kotomine said, stepping closer. Kiritsugu didn’t rise from where he was sitting. Kotomine didn’t deserve that courtesy.

“Then why are you wasting your time here?”

“Just a whim of mine. In the past I used to never indulge them. You could say, I’m making up for that lost time,” Kotomine said cryptically, before raising his head to look Kiritsugu straight in the eyes. “You are probably unaware, but it’s because of you that I started a career as a cooking show host.”

It was good thing Kiritsugu wasn’t smoking a cigarette at the moment, because he would have surely dropped it from that revelation.

“You are joking,” he spat out, unable to believe the priest’s words.

“No, I speak the truth. While there were other factors that led me to this position—like the co-owner of this TV station, one Tokiomi Tohsaka, who begged my father to help him find a chef who would be able to work with the celebrity they barely managed to contract—but the reason I agreed was because I saw an episode of the first season of your show. Before that I haven’t even cooked much. Ironic, isn’t it?” 

“That’s bullshit,” Kiritsugu pointed out. “There’s no way anything about my cooking show would inspire someone to pick up cooking.”

He knew full well that people only watched his show to laugh at his poor cooking attempts. There was no one who actually believed the crap about “teaching the viewers to never give up”, which the creators claimed was the message of the show. Maybe except for Shirou. He was the only person for whom Kiritsugu wanted to preserve that illusion.

“Yes, and that was precisely what caught my interest. Despite your clear lack of cooking talent you continued to push forward. Every week you would try and fail again. What you did was, in other words, completely pointless.”

Kiritsugu clenched his fist.

“Will you finally get to the point?” he hissed. He was tired of Kotomine’s antics.

“The point I’m trying to make is… I saw myself in you.”

Kiritsugu wanted to say it was a lie, but his voice got caught in his throat. For once, Kotomine sounded sincere. The slightly distant look in his eyes and the wistfulness of his voice spoke for themselves. Still, Kiritsugu wasn’t about to buy into this sympathy act even for a second.

“We are nothing alike,” he insisted. He knew it had to be true because he refused to accept the alternative.

Kotomine chuckled. It was a deeply unsettling sound.

“Oh, I agree. It was a disappointment to discover that you were in fact motivated by something as pedestrian as needing money to raise an orphan you took in to deal with the loneliness you felt after your wife and daughter were taken away from you. All because you ended up not fulfilling the deal you made with her family, so they decided to ditch you. As amusing as learning of this tragicomedy would have been under normal circumstances, it left me feeling quite disappointed.”

“You were the one who got this weird idea that we are similar. Don’t go around blaming me for your delusions,” Kiritsugu pointed out. “I don’t know what sick idea made you think we were alike in the first place!”

Kotomine took a step forward, shortening the distance between them. Kiritsugu instinctively stood up, not wanting to feel like Kotomine was towering over him, but it didn’t help much. 

“That’s why I was _disappointed_ ,” Kotomine said. His voice sounded off. Kiritsugu instinctively took a step back, but Kotomine followed him. “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be _empty_.” 

Kiritsugu nodded. He had no idea why, but he knew Kotomine was like an abyss—he absorbed light and happiness and dissolved it into nothing. 

“That’s right! Even if I lost a lot of things, even if my ideals were shattered, I still have something! But you—you will never have anything!” Kiritsugu snapped viciously.

Kotomine’s face suddenly blanked, shifting to a neutral expression. Kiritsugu thought that maybe he had succeeded in actually upsetting him this time. However, that hope was dashed, as Kotomine’s lips formed a small smile.

“Bold words for someone whose show may soon be canceled,” the priest said with an indifferent shrug. 

A vicious remark died on Kiritsugu’s lips.

“What do you mean canceled?!” he asked, leaning forward and clutching the collar of Kotomine’s chef outfit. Despite Kiritsugu’s efforts to maintain his cool, a hint of desperation entered his voice. 

They couldn’t cancel _Dinner at Einzberns_! Sure, it was a terrible show and Kiritsugu hated it, but it paid the bills and gave Kiritsugu chance to interact with Iri. If it was gone, he would be back to futile job hunts and being unable to even talk with his ex-wife.

“My, didn’t they tell you? The board had been considering substituting it with a new show… what was its name… _Cuisine Conquerors_. An actual educational show about food. They are already halfway through filming the first season,” Kotomine explained leisurely. He didn’t seem to care about Kiritsugu threateningly clutching his outfit—his voice was completely serene and devoid of tension. 

“I… I heard nothing about this…” Kiritsugu admitted feebly. He knew he couldn’t show weakness before Kotomine, but it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the facade of strength.

Kotomine was silent for a moment as if he considered something.

“Then… how about we make a bet?” he suggested, surprising Kiritsugu by leaning forward even more, so that he was pretty much talking into his ear.

“A bet?” Kiritsugu repeated, unsure what to do. He felt extremely uncomfortable with his personal space being invaded and wanted to shove Kotomine away. However, some part of him was afraid of the man’s retaliation.

He couldn’t take risks now. Not when Shirou was waiting for him to safely return home.

“Yes, you see I don’t have a lingering attachment to this job. And without me _Feast Worthy of the King_ would be done for. They don’t have anyone else willing to humor my co-host. So I was thinking… how about making this final showdown more exciting by putting our careers on the line?”

“I don’t believe you,” Kiritsugu said. This sounded too good to be true. “You are lying to rile me up, so I make a mistake.”

“And here I thought a former mercenary would appreciate a high stakes fight. I need to offer something good enough to balance my condition,” Kotomine explained, sounding as if he was placating a child. Kiritsugu had to consciously stop himself from punching the priest.

“So what is your condition?” Kiritsugu asked through gritted teeth. His skin was starting to crawl from the forced proximity. Back when he was still a mercenary he wouldn’t have let this happen. He would never had let Kotomine approach him so easily, but now…

...now he was just a shadow of himself. He had to retire early from a wound he'd sustained when opposing Einzbern’s plan. He had to give up on his wife and daughter for his ideals. He had to take part in a stupid cooking show just to be able to talk with Iri and earn enough money to sustain himself and Shirou. He had to watch how his wife was becoming more and more distant with him and showing much more interest in her bodyguard.

Everything dear to him was slipping through his fingers and he didn’t have the power to stop it.

Kotomine smirked, as he leaned backwards so could look Kiritsugu straight in the eyes. For the first time Kiritsugu saw a spark of joy in his pupils.

It made him feel terrified.

“I want you to host a cooking show with me,” Kotomine said easily, as if it was a perfectly reasonable offer.

“A cooking show?” Kiritsugu repeated feeling slightly blindsided. 

“Yes, just you and me. It would be a true educational show, not the farce you are taking part in right now. A show in which the cooking prodigy teaches his untalented collegue how to cook. Pouring time and effort in week after week to help him improve,” Kotomine explained slowly.

Kiritsugu let the idea sink in. He and Kotomine sharing a kitchen. Kotomine looking at Kiritsugu’s cooking from behind his shoulder. Constantly looming over him, searching for misstep just so he could scold and guide Kiritsugu like a shepherd would lead a dumb sheep to her slaughter...

Kiritsugu got goosebumps just imagining it.

“Hell, no! I will not—” he started, but was silenced as Kotomine pressed a finger against his lips. 

Kiritsugu immediately swatted his hand away, feeling sickened by the gesture. He remembered how he once did the same thing when Iri was worried about the future, gently pressing his fingers against her lips. However, now that memory was being drowned out by this new repulsive one.

He didn’t want to remember those damn calloused fingers of a cooking gorilla on his lips, damnit.

“Then you are going to just let yourself be kicked out? And here I thought that maybe you still had some spine. But I guess you were always too soft for mercenary work. Running away with your tail between your legs suits you better,” Kirei said mockingly. He turned around, finally giving Kiritsugu some space.

However, as he started to walk away, Kiritsugu found himself clenching his fists.

“I will win!” he proclaimed. “I will use any method available… If it’s to make sure you never ever take up your knife as a cook I won’t be afraid to stain my hands! I don’t care about my cooking show and I lost my ideals a long time ago. But I know one thing. I can’t afford to have you continue your evil ways. I will put an end to your cooking career right here and now!”

Kotomine didn’t turn around, but even then Kiritsugu could tell—the man had that sickening smirk on his face.

“Then I look forward to seeing you prove those words in the kitchen, Emiya Kiritsugu.”

Even as the priest finally left the small room, Kiritsugu found himself unable to calm down. 

He might had been betrayed by his ideals, but just this once he would stand against the evil like the hero of justice he had once aspired to be.

*

“We didn’t believe there would be a third round, but here we are!” Uryuu admitted a bit too earnestly. “This final clash will determine the winner of today’s episode! We had already chosen the final dish, but before that, Chef Kotomine wanted to make an announcement.” 

Kotomine cleared his throat, immediately getting the audience’s attention.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but even if this is a friendly competition, the stakes have been boorishly low. Both me and Chef Kirtsugu are used to working in much more stressful cooking environment. As such, I proposed a bet to make our final round a bit more interesting. And I’m happy to announce that he has agreed.”

Kiritsugu discreetly looked at the staff. He could see some cameramen start to whisper. Even the weird masked helpers exchanged confused looks.

“I will keep the contents of that bet a secret for now, but I have already passed the information about them to our producers. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say we have both staked our futures on this,” Kotomine explained cryptically.

Kiritsugu watched silently as a very panicked person ran in the background to the producer and started to quickly talk to him. The producer made a calm reply that didn’t seem to have eased the worries of the panicked man.

It looked like their final showdown wouldn’t be stopped by the higher-ups then.

“A bet with your future at stake? That’s the coolest!!!” Uryuu shouted. “Wow, if we knew things would go like this maybe we would have chosen a different dish for the finale.”

“Now, now, Ryuunosuke. We can’t go around changing our decision now. And I’m sure that those two will prove that they are ready to go against the laws of man and nature to achieve their goals! Our pity would just be an insult to their conviction!”

“You’re right! I shouldn’t look down on our contestants even if one of them is infamous for his inability to cook,” Uryuu agreed with a nod. “Let’s not put it off then, the third dish made today will be—”

As he said that the screen lit up to display the cursed words.

MAPO TOFU

Kiritsugu glanced at the judges section to see that everyone, including Gilgamesh, looked extremely uncomfortable.

“We couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have the infamous God of Mapo Tofu display his skills!” Uryuu explained. “I’m sure our audience agrees with us!”

The loud cheers from the audience made Kiritsugu wonder if the people there weren’t actually sadists who enjoyed watching judges suffer. This had to be the only explanation as to why they wanted to see this massacre occur.

Kotomine turned towards Kiritsugu.

“I’m obviously fine with this arrangement, but do you agree to this match? I’d rather not have you claim that the only reason why you lost was because the theme was in my favour,” Kotomine said. 

Kiritsugu clenched his fists. He hated the fact that Kotomine went out of his way to offer Kiritsugu pity right after strong-arming him into the bet. It made him look like a benevolent priest, rather than an asshole cook that he really was.

Kiritsugu sneered.

“I’m not backing out. You might look down on a home cook like me, but I sacrificed many things to get where I am. That’s why I will prove it here and now—all those hardships and struggles weren’t in vain!”

“Our contestants are armed and ready!” Uryuu shouted, as the crowd cheered. “Let the final match begin!”

The loud gong resounded. Both Kiritsugu and Kotomine move to their cooking stations.

Kotomine was right. Kiritsugu stood no chance in a fair and square match. Until now, Kotomine was messing around, not taking their match seriously, but now that they had a bet going he would take his cooking seriously.

Kiritsugu smirked to himself at the thought.

Good thing he was done playing fair and square then.

*

If it was anyone else it would be impossible to coordinate. With a microphone attached to him while he was on the set and very little time to pass instructions before the third round begun, Kiritsugu would normally have to face the enemy alone.

Luckily, Maiya could support him even in such disadvantageous situation. 

Kiritsugu smiled to himself as he scratched his nose with his knuckles. To everyone else it would look as nothing out of the ordinary—but Maiya would recognize this as a signal.

He purposefully didn’t look in her direction. He trusted that she would be able to execute her mission, so it was better to keep attention away from her.

Kiritsugu pretended to almost drop a bottle of soy sauce to make sure everyone paid attention to him. He could swear he heard a stifled chuckle from Kotomine, but when he turned around the fake priest seemed to be completely focused on cutting tofu.

The joke was on him because Maiya should have finished her sabotage by then. The bowl with doubanjiang had been contaminated with a mixture that would cause no harm to humans, but would make the food taste foul. Even Kotomine wouldn’t be able to salvage this. Kiritsugu grinned, now the victory would be— 

“Excuse me, I wanted to ask if it would be alright to use my own doubanjiang?” Kotomine said, as if he only just now remembered about it. He seemed to have produced a jar seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s not that I don’t trust prep team, but I’m so used to working with my own blend, it would feel strange to use anything else.”

“I believe it would be quite unfair for us to allow the participant to use ingredients prepared beforehand,” Gilles pointed out.

“But it would be really cool! So we will allow it!” Uryuu announced, raising his thumb at the same time as Gilles.

Kiritsugu gritted his teeth. He should have expected Kotomine to play foul.

No, he wouldn’t give up just yet. He had more tricks up his sleeve.

Kiritsugu moved his hand to crack his neck, signaling Maiya to move to plan B.

Plan B was more risky, as it relied on a more direct interference. This episode was being filmed on a tight schedule so if something happened to make Kotomine unable to serve his dish, Kiritsugu would end up being the winner by default. There would be no retakes to give Kotomine a chance.

As Kiritsugu stirred the ground pork in the pan, he glanced at Kotomine’s workspace. Maiya had smuggled a slingshot which would allow her to covertly sabotage Kotomine. She would use a projectile that would blend in with other things in the cooking space eliminating all traces of her interference. It would be a perfect crime.

Kiritsugu simply waited for the sound of destruction and utensils hitting the floor.

“Ouch!”

Instead the sound that resounded through the set was that of someone being in pain. Kiritsugu moved his head to see one of the helpers in skull-faced mask, massaging his back. Two other helpers were crouching next to him, probably feeling concerned. It was hard to tell when the mask obscured most of their faces.

Still, it was strange. It wasn’t like Maiya to botch her shot and hit a person instead— 

“Augh!”

Another shout of pain interrupted the competition. As Kiritsugu glanced at yet another skull-faced helper being in pain, it suddenly became clear to him what was going on. Kiritsugu wasn’t the only one who had allies on the sidelines. He glanced at Kotomine to see the man smirk. 

Of course, that monster would somehow manipulate the helpers into supporting him. Why didn’t Kiritsugu think of it earlier. It fit Kotomine’s modus operandi perfectly.

No, the important question was if they should continue with plan B. It didn’t seem like the helpers were planning to actually attack Maiya. Instead, they simply kept acting as literal human shield whenever she shot. If she kept shooting there was a chance that they wouldn’t react fast enough.

Kiritsugu had done worse things in his life. He was wanted for acts of terrorism in five countries. He could do it. He could order someone to keep shooting projectiles at underpaid interns who probably acted as literal meatshields to earn just a few more yens in order to win a dumb cooking competition…

...fuck, he couldn’t do it. He just wasn’t that ruthless mercenary anymore.

Kiritsugu sighed, scratching the back of his neck. A signal to stop the operation.

It was over. He had given up what little happiness remained in his life for some faceless interns. Kiritsugu clenched his fist, his hold on the knife tightening.

“That’s right, I’m still holding a knife,” he said in sudden realization.

The mercenary Emiya might have given up, but chef Emiya was still fighting. He smiled to himself as he returned to adding ingredients to the pan. Even if the odds were against him, he would show them—the pride of a cook. 

*

“The time has come! Let us all taste this Final Judgement!” Gilles shouted, spreading his arms.

“Whose dish will be able to woo the judges? And will there be enough of Kotomine’s spicy dish left for the two of us to also enjoy! Let’s find out!” Uryuu shouted, a bit too honestly. Still, the crowd obediently cheered following the displayed prompts.

The masked helpers appeared, dutifully carrying bowls filled with mapo tofu.

“This time we will start with Kotomine’s dish… after which we will have an advertisement break so our judges can regain their sense of taste,” Uryuu continued guilelessly, as if lasting oral damage was a normal part of cooking competitions.

The judging panel looked pale. Even Gilgamesh was pale under his usual mask of confidence. Irisviel and Saber looked as if they’d sooner welcome death than another serving of Kotomine’s dish.

Still, they had no choice. Kiritsugu clenched his fists. He could only watch helplessly at the suffering befalling his loved ones. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Irisviel and Saber’s pained expressions. It was moments like this that reminded Kiritsugu of all the misfortune and anguish he had witnessed during his days as a mercenary.

Even now that he moved away from that life, there was still so much suffering everywhere he looked.

“What a bloodbath! Even Gilgamesh has passed out!” Uryuu shouted excitedly, his voice drowning out the pained groans coming from the judges panel. “What a potent dish! I can’t wait to have a taste myself! Oh, the medics are entering the set, so see you after the break!”

*

“Welcome back everyone!” Uryuu said happily. “Our judges are back and ready for the final tasting of this round!”

The camera panned to the judges who were putting on obviously strained smiles. Irisviel had a bandage over her throat, Saber’s eyes were very unnaturally bloodshot, and even the makeup wasn’t able to completely hide deep eyeshadows that made Gilgamesh look ten years older.

It was painfully obvious that their contracts were the only thing keeping them in their seats.

“Now then, everyone please don’t hold back!” Gilles said with a wide smile, as Kiritsugu’s mapo tofu was placed before the judges. It was very obvious at first glance that it was much inferior compared to Kotomie’s dish. The pieces of tofu were uneven and there were parts which looked obviously burnt. Unsurprisingly, trying to sabotage someone else’s dish while making your own didn’t result in good cooking. However, Kiritsugu stood his ground. All he could do was hope that just this once justice would prevail. 

There was a tense silence as judges finally took a bite of Kirtsugu’s mapo tofu.

“It’s not spicy?!” Saber muttered in obvious confusion. She chewed on it and then took another spoonful as if wanting to confirm.

Irisviel looked about to cry from happiness over the fact. Even Gilgamesh, who Kiritsugu was sure didn’t actually experience normal human emotions, was moved.

“I didn’t know mapo tofu could be so merciful,” he admitted, his voice almost breaking.

For the first and only time in his life, Kiritsugu found himself feeling genuine pity for the haughty celebrity. Even if he was a total asshole, Gilgamesh didn’t deserve to live knowing only the taste of Kotomine’s hellish sichuan style mapo tofu.

“Yes, knowing that the judges probably didn’t feel like eating more spicy dishes today, I figured I should do a more japanese take on mapo tofu. I knew it would be more bland as a result, but I thought it was more important to deliver a dish that judges would enjoy than try to compete over who can make a more spicy one.”

Judges didn’t say anything more, they just silently placed their votes.

“For the first time we have unanimous decision! The winner of this cooking duel is… Chef Emiya!”

Kiritsugu could feel all the tension evaporate, leaving behind a strong feeling of relief.

He did it! He achieved the impossible! 

He looked at Kotomine. The man merely stared emotionlessly at the board displaying the results. Nothing in his face or posture betrayed what he was feeling.

“I won!” Kiritsugu said strongly. His words finally seemed to pull Kotomine out of his thoughts.

“Ah, yes, congratulations on winning, Chef Emiya,” he said, sounding somehow distracted. “This is my loss.”

Kiritsugu wasn’t sure what to say. He had been planning to gloat and rub the victory into Kotomine’s face, but the distant look in his eyes made Kiritsugu feel foolish. Even if Kotomine claimed to have no attachments to his cooking show, it couldn’t be the whole truth. The man loved to torture people with his food. Even if it was a twisted sort of affection, he probably viewed his cooking show as one place where he could truly be himself.

In that one moment, for the first time, Kiritsugu felt a genuine connection with Kotomine. Kiritsugu used to think they were nothing alike, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe underneath all the snark and barely-hidden hostility they were in fact nothing more than two lonely man seeking shards of salvation.

Kotomine finally moved, approaching the director and quietly exchanging some words with him. The director looked surprised, but nodded, giving swift orders to the few masked helpers gathered around. Kotomine nodded gratefully and then slightly turned his head, when he finally noticed Kiritsugu’s gaze.

There was a slightly melancholic smile on his face.

“Chef Emiya! Please join us!” Uryuu’s excited voice, drew Kiritsugu out of the daze. He quickly moved onto the main stage where the hosts were waiting to congratulate him on his victory. Gilles was holding the cheap plastic trophy with unnervingly wide grin like he was competing for the title of the world’s creepiest award presenter. 

No, who was Kiritsugu kidding, he would win in a landslide.

“Wow, congratulations on actually winning,” Uryuu said, shaking Kiritsugu’s hand with way too much enthusiasm. “Nobody expected you to win. Literally. So don’t mind that it’s Kotomine’s name etched on that trophy, okay?”

Kiritsugu just nodded. He was planning to throw it into the first trash can he would find anyway, so he didn’t care much about the engravings.

“Do you have anything to say to the viewers?”

Kiritsugu narrowed his eyes as he looked at the rows where the public sat. Shit, guess he had to say something smart.

“With strong spices… comes great responsibility,” he said, his voice somber.

Uryuu stared at him for a moment as if he expected some sort of follow up, but when none came, he grinned and waved to the audience.

“That was Chef Emiya! Now, let us welcome onto the stage the loser of this contest, Chef Kotomine!”

The applause was noticeably bigger than when Kiritsugu came to claim the trophy, which he noted with a hint of bitterness.

Kotomine stood there for a second, silently waiting for the applause to die down before he spoke.

“I want to thank everyone who came to cheer for both of us in this contest. While it was only a short collaboration, I was glad to be able to witness Chef Emiya’s legendary cooking.” The fact that Kotomine managed to say those words without any hints of irony made the sentence feel even more insulting. “However, I should move to something you are all probably wondering about—the bet between me and Chef Emiya.”

Kotomine made a suspenseful pause while the audience whispered.

“Let me start by saying that it was me who proposed those conditions, so please don’t fault Chef Emiya. He was gracious enough to agree to my outrageous bet, so any hate directed towards him would be undeserved. I hope you don’t mind if I keep it a secret what I asked of him if I'd won. It would be rather embarrassing to admit now that I’ve lost.”

He paused letting another round of murmurs spread through the audience, before continuing.

“Yes, I was beaten fair and square, so I should not put this off. Which is why I’m announcing here and now. This is the end of _Feast Worthy of the King_.”

This time the audience’s response wasn’t quiet. There were loud protests and sounds of disbelief. Someone booed.

Kiritsugu could see the director from where he was standing. He looked visibly anxious. It didn’t seem like the announcement was being faked. Something occurred to Kiritsugu and his head snapped as he looked to the side at Gilgamesh. His expression was unreadable. Did someone inform him that his co-host was leaving and their show was being cancelled?

The weight of what Kiritsugu had caused was starting to really sink in.

He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He disliked Kotomine, but he never wanted to cause everyone such misery. His dream used to be to save the world, but the only thing he had accomplished so far was leaving a lot of people disappointed that the cooking show they liked was axed.

This wasn’t how he wanted things to end.

Kiritsugu opened his mouth to say something, but he was stopped when he noticed Kotomine giving him a stern look. Words died on Kiritsugu’s lips as he realized how pointless his pity was. Just like him Kotomine had his pride as a chef—asking him to disregard their bet would be nothing but an insult.

Kiritsugu thought Kotomine looked down on him, and honestly he probably did considering that he lost despite the wide skill gap between them, but he was still showing Kiritsugu respect as a fellow cook. 

“I understand this is a sad moment and I apologize to all our faithful viewers. Your support has been invaluable. It was your flood of fanmail that allowed us to pacify Gilgamesh through all the seasons of our show. We thank you, but it is time for us to step down and make space for the new blood. In two months our current time slot will be given to the new show _Cuisine Conquerors_. Please give them your warm support as you once did for us.”

Kotomine was so cordial Kiritsugu could hardly recognize him. He never truly tried to understand the man, did he? If he did, would they have reached a different conclusion? Maybe there would be a happier future they could have achieved— 

“Get to the point, Kirei. I know you love waxing poetics, but I have a photoshoot at eight!” Gilgamesh shouted, interrupting the solemn mood. 

Kiritsugu blinked, caught off guard by the sudden whiplash. Kotomine coughed into his hand, before he continued, his voice now much more festive.

“Rejoice! For we shall return next year in a new format!” he announced. The screen above him lit up showing a gold-colored title. Kiritsugu squinted at it in disbelief. “In our new show _Pleasure Cruise_ we shall travel to the far reaches of the earth to expand our culinary horizons and rate food all around the world!”

Kiritsugu felt his pulse quicken, as he finally understood what was happening.

He sent Kotomine a murderous look, but the priest merely smirked in response. How dare that asshole— 

“I was getting bored of eating the same food so it was high time we did something else!” Gilgamesh announced, standing up. “I will show all of you the greatest dishes this world has to offer on this trip! So make sure you watch it, mongrels, once we return on air!”

The audience cheered loudly. Kiritsugu had no idea why everyone was so happy when they had just been insulted, but it didn’t matter. All of Kiritsugu’s attention was on Kotomine. Kiritsugu should have known that the bastard had a backup plan, a surefire way to turn around the situation even if he lost. It was all a setup created solely to toy with Kiritsugu.

Kiritsugu really wanted to punch him in the face, but the cameras were still rolling and Kotomine was now answering questions about his new show. Kiritsugu could only clench his fists in frustration.

One of the masked helpers signaled for him to leave the set. Even though Kiritsugu won the competition he was now being treated like a loser. The announcement of the new cooking show stole everyone’s attention from Kiritsugu.

The whole competition didn’t matter in the first place. Kiritsugu was the only one taking it seriously.

He turned around and left the set, clenching his trophy in frustration.

*

Kiritsugu haphazardly threw the trophy onto the passenger seat, while he sat behind the wheel. He took out a folded note one of the masked helpers put in his hand, while he was leaving the studio and opened it.

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.

_”I hope we will get to compete once more when I’m back. I will buy you a souvenir, so wait for me.”_

Kiritsugu crumpled the note and then took a lighter and set it on fire. The car was quickly filled with a stench of fire and the seat got a bit signed when Kiritsugu dropped the burning piece of paper, but it was worth it.

He sighed, as he leaned on the wheel.

He never should have gotten caught up in Kotomine’s mind games. What was he thinking, letting himself get provoked like that?

“I’m so stupid,” he muttered.

His phone vibrated, signaling a new message.

Kiritsugu slowly pulled it out. It was from Arturia which was strange, Kiritsugu was sure she had permanently blocked his number. Kiritsugu clicked the notification and realized that Arturia sent him a photo.

As he opened it, his phone slowly loaded a picture of Arturia and Irisviel extending their hands towards the camera to show off the matching rings on their ring fingers. They were both smiling happily holding each other's shoulders.

Behind them Kiritsugu could see Saber’s employees tackling Gilgamesh to the ground so he wouldn’t be able to interfere with the two women.

There was a single text message attached to the photo.

_”I will make her happy.”_

Kiritsugu made a loud sigh. Some part of him knew this was coming, but it wasn’t something he could prepare himself for. He had so many emotions about Iri getting engaged to someone else he could hardly untangle them right now.

He typed five replies which he ended up deleting before he finally settled on one.

_“Make sure you also take good care of Illya.”_

He took a deep breath and hit send. He almost immediately got a response.

_“You don’t have to tell me that.”_

Kiritsugu smiled to himself just a little. Maybe he couldn’t fix mistakes of his past, but as long as people he cared about were happy he could move on with his own life.

He looked at the watch. It was later than he thought and Shirou was probably still up waiting for him to return. Kiritsugu turned the key, making his car come to life.

He had a home to return to.

*

Just as he'd thought, Shirou hadn’t gone to sleep yet, instead waiting patiently for his return. Kiritsugu got tackled by him as soon as he entered the house.

“I’m back,” he said as he patted Shirou on the head. He was so small—even if he was taller than Illya when he last saw her, he still had a lot of growing up to do. Actually, maybe Kiritsugu could convince Saber and Iri to send him some photos of her.

“Welcome home,” Shirou replied, then silently led Kiritsugu deeper into the house. As they entered the living room, Kiritsugu noticed a neatly prepared plate of sandwiches covered with a transparent foil so they wouldn’t become dry.

Shirou announced he would prepare tea. Kiritsugu didn’t have the heart to stop him.

As he sat on the pillow, Kiritsugu thought of the trophy he had left in the car. Maybe he shouldn’t throw it out, after all. Sure, Kiritsugu couldn’t care less about it, but Shirou would probably feel proud seeing it. The only problem was Kotomine’s name on it, but if Kiritsugu placed the trophy up high enough, Shirou shouldn’t be able to read the inscription on the base.

He smiled to himself, maybe the whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

*

“I can’t believe it? How they could do something like that?!” Shirou shouted at the TV, while pouting. 

It was cute seeing Shirou get so worked up. He was usually so serious about everything, it was nice to see him act his age. 

“Even though you won, that jerk is taking all the spotlight!” Shirou complained as he pointed at Kotomine’s face that was being displayed on the TV screen. They have been watching the broadcast of the cooking competition, and as it turned out, Shirou had a lot of emotions about it.

“That’s how it is, Shirou. He’s a much more famous chef. People are more interested in him,” Kiritsugu explained, trying to placate Shirou with a smile.

Kiritsugu still felt a pang of annoyance when watching Kotomine on the screen, but he just made sure to bury his emotions. He didn’t want to show his unsightly side to Shirou.

“But people would also be interested in you, if they gave you a chance!” Shirou argued with an ironclad logic of a ten-year-old child. Kiritsugu just laughed goodnaturedly at that.

“I’m sure they would,” he agreed, patting Shirou on the head. The boy stood still for a moment, as if thinking deeply about something.

“When I grow up… I will become a great cook and then challenge that jerk to a cooking battle! I will show him not to mess with Emiyas!” Shirou decided, as he clenched his fist.

Kiritsugu’s smile froze. For a second he saw it. A much more older Shirou challenging Kotomine to a cooking match… and for some reason the scene felt foreboding. Kiritsugu had no idea why, but he knew one thing—he should never let Shirou meet Kotomine.

He instinctively pulled Shirou into a hug. The boy yelped in surprise.

“Please, promise me Shirou. Promise you will never use your cooking for mass media entertainment,” Kiritsugu asked, his voice serious.

“But dad, I—” Shirou tried to protest, but Kiritsugu wouldn’t budge on this.

“Promise me,” he urged him.

Shirou was still for a moment, before clenching Kiritsugu’s kimono.

“Fine, I promise,” he said. “I will only cook for people important to me.”

Kiritsugu smiled, as he hugged his child once more. He was turned towards TV, so he could see the interview was still going on from above Shirou’s shoulder.

_“Your defeat today was a surprise. Was it because you were holding back too much in today’s competition?”_

Kotomine made a small smile.

 _“I can’t argue I have underestimated him, but that was a mistake I don’t plan to repeat. Once I come back to Japan, I plan to challenge him again. This time, I won’t hold back,”_ he announced. _“I hope he will be prepared when the time comes.”_

Kiritsugu found himself hugging Shirou tighter, as he glared at the TV.

Bring it on, asshole, he thought to himself as he looked at Kotomine’s smug face. No matter how many times Kotomine would challenge him, Kiritsugu wouldn’t lose. He would protect everything he loved one dish at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Shirou, of course, breaks his word when a few years later the heir to the TV station Rin Tohsaka makes him join her newly created cooking show. However, little do they know that Tokiomi Tohsaka's real cause of death was choking on a particularly spicy serving of mapo tofu.


End file.
